


In Winterfell

by darkandstormyslash



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Gen, Oneshot, canon-typical treatment of a child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-18
Updated: 2016-02-18
Packaged: 2018-05-21 11:21:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,287
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6049702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/darkandstormyslash/pseuds/darkandstormyslash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set pre-story: Theon, Robb and Jon as kids in Winterfell. Theon goes a bit too far. Ned is not happy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Winterfell

**Author's Note:**

> I've been reading Merel's amazing Theon analysis and felt like some young, hurting Greyjoy. Her book is epic, go check it out! http://www.amazon.co.uk/RISING-HARDER-AND-STRONGER-depth-ebook/dp/B016S9MHIY

It happens by accident, Theon tells himself later. Usually when they play at fighting Robb is the commander. Despite his younger age it seems natural that he should practice being in charge. But today they’re playing in an abandoned crate and the crate is a boat which means _Theon_ gets to be the Captain.

Robb is more than happy scrabbling around the bottom of the crate throwing ropes, all coltish 11-year old limbs and childish excitement. Theon stands on the edge of it, precariously balanced against the walls of Winterfell, stretching to attach an unwieldy square of canvass to a makeshift mast. Robb pulls himself up to help, grabs it at the wrong angle and the canvass tears, throwing them both back into the crate in a heap.

Robb pushes himself back onto his feet and does a hasty salute and Theon, drunk on unaccustomed power, snaps “You _fool_ ” and slaps him round the face.

It was almost an accident. He was barely thinking. He's grown too used to thinking of Robb as his younger brother, and Robb did mess up after all. It’s hardly Theon’s fault.

Robb looks shocked and raises his hand to his cheek. Theon is already regretting it and steps forward with eyes full of apology. That might have been the end of it, if Theon hadn’t turned to see Maester Luwin staring at them in horror and shock.

Luwin tells Ned Stark when he returns. Robb strenuously denies any wrongdoing on Theon’s part until Ned sends him up to his bedchamber. Then it’s just Luwin recounting the story while Ned Stark stares at Theon Greyjoy and Theon Greyjoy stares at the floor.

“Is it true?” Ned asks eventually. “You struck my son?”

Theon dithers, not sure what the best course of action is. He looks up to meet Ned’s eyes and decides, in a moment of sudden clarity, that he will tell the truth. Ned values the truth. If Theon tells the truth, Ned will think he’s brave, and will admire him, and maybe even smile at him.

He takes a deep breath. “Yes.” He says, trying to keep his voice from shaking, “I struck Robb. We were playing a game. I was the Captain.”

He isn’t sure how to explain further. He’s always confused when it comes to Robb. Robb is his friend, but also his captor and his superior. He knows that hitting Robb outside of weapons practice is very much forbidden, however much of a younger brother the boy may be.

Ned exchanges a glance with Luwin. Theon can’t work out what they’re thinking, but it doesn’t look like Ned is about to smile. Then Ned’s expression focuses back on him and Theon knows, instantly, that telling the truth was a bad move. Ned looks stern and cold and hard and Theon wilts under the gaze.

They’re in the stables already, so Luwin just nods and leaves as Ned picks up the leather strap hanging on a nail by the door. Theon stares at it and stutters, “It was a game, that was all, I-I didn’t really strike him, it was just a jape.”

Now Ned’s eyes look disappointed, and Theon knows he’s being weak. Having told the truth he should have stuck with it – now he’s both foolish for admitting his crime and weak for backing down in the face of danger. It was just a slap, he thinks angrily, as he tugs his shirt up over his head and turns to grip the big oak beam that holds up the roof. It wasn’t as if he’d even properly hit Robb.

Ned’s voice is soft, but not gentle. “Theon, do you understand why I’m doing this?”

Theon isn’t sure what answer Ned wants.

“I have not treated you ill, since you came here. You have been fed, housed and well-treated. My wife and children have shown you no anger and spite. But I cannot have you hitting my son.”

Theon nods, mute.

“He is younger than you, but he is a Stark in Winterfell.” Theon is suddenly very pleased that Ned is not trying to look at him, so he can just grip the beam and glare at the floor. Waiting, always waiting, for Ned to strike. “You will not hit him, boss him, or bully him. Do you understand me?”

Another nod. Theon does not trust himself to speak.

Ned swings the leather like he swings his sword; doing a job that must be done with the exact strength required to do it properly. Ned Stark is a man of honour and justice, and Theon can’t even blame him for the beating. As Robb’s father this is his duty, as Theon’s surrogate father it’s his responsibility and as Theon’s captor it’s his right. Ned doesn’t hit him near as often as his father or brothers did, and Theon knows he should be grateful for that.

It’s hard to be grateful as the leather swings down.

Theon doesn’t even cry. _Almost_ doesn’t cry.

\---

Robb Stark is so apologetic, so racked with guilt, that Theon almost enjoys making light of it afterwards. He smirks and tosses his head and tells Robb that on Pyke it would’ve been worse, far worse. “Why if we were back there now, and Jon Snow were to strike me like I struck you, he’d have been beaten to within an inch of his life and then drowned under the salt waves.”

Robb is wide eyed and easy to impress. Jon Snow mooches along behind them and looks distinctly less impressed.

“Oh yes, on Pyke I am a Prince, and it is forbidden to strike Princes.” Theon elaborates, almost believing it himself. The story becomes more fantastical as they walk through Winterfell, and Robb starts to join in with outlandish details of his own. By the time they reach the archery butts Jon Snow is being hung, drawn, and quartered for daring to even _look_ at Theon as he issues commands from his father’s throne.

“I bet that’s not true.” Jon snaps finally as Theon carefully picks out his arrows. “Maester Luwin says that on the Iron Islands men are judged by their strength alone, even bastards can have power and status if they have the strength.”

“You have no strength.” Theon scoffs, thinking of giving Jon a cuff but, given his recent experience, deciding against it. There’s a constant dance between him and Jon, as they try to work out who holds the most power and status, who commands the most respect and love from Ned Stark. Jon may have Ned’s protection, but Theon knows he ranks higher with Catelyn, and the thought makes him admire her, jealously hording every pleased glance or kind word she sends his way.

Robb moves between them and pulls out his bow, stopping the argument before it properly starts. Theon takes his own bow and strings it, feeling glad that for the next hour at least he’ll be constantly besting Jon at archery. He has a few years on Jon, which helps, but he knows he is also good at archery. He certainly has the time to put in plenty of practice.

The skin between his shoulders aches and throbs uncomfortably as he draws back the string. When he glances up he can see Ned Stark watching them, or maybe just watching Robb, and he quickly looks away. He knows the news will have spread by now, most of Winterfell will know he struck Robb Stark and was punished for it. He imagines they’ll all be looking at him, silently judging, wondering if their little princeling is in danger from the big bad Greyjoy.

Theon grits his teeth, tugs his bow back to the furthest limit, and smiles.


End file.
